


I'll wait forever (don't make it too long)

by SmilinStar



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, post 6x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And there's a tiny moment of silence where time freezes, before she says ever so softly, “We're still friends, right?” He swallows, “Always.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A post-6x22 collection of drabbles that'll hopefully come together as one at least semi-coherent fic of what I'd like to see going forward.

 

 

 

 

**(i)**

 

 

 

 

He stops still, blood bag halfway to his mouth.

 

Because, what he's seeing? Can't be real.

 

He takes a step closer to the window, just to be sure he isn't hallucinating. And no, he really isn't.

 

That really is Damon; standing out there in the bright summer sun, beer in hand, radio on loud, humming along as he works under the hood of his Camaro.

 

Like _nothing_ has happened.

 

Like the love of his life hasn't just been locked away inside the family crypt, spelled to sleep for as long as her best friend, _his best friend,_ lives.

 

Like yesterday never even happened.

 

He drops the practically untouched bag of A positive on to the dining table and heads for the front door.

 

Damon remains oblivious, rocking out to the soundtrack of the 90's, grease all over his shirt and hands.

 

Stefan leans up against the pillar, brow furrowed as he stares in confusion at the scene in front of him. He opens and closes his mouth, not quite sure what to say, but Damon saves him the trouble.

 

“Quit it Stefan, I can hear your poor brain cells straining and dying with all your brotherly concern.”

 

He doesn't even turn around, just flips the spanner in his hand and keeps his eyes firmly on the car's engine.

 

“Oh that's not concern you're hearing.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“No. More like surprise. You're handling all of this a lot better than I expected.”

 

“That's me,” Damon says, spinning around, arms spread wide, and with a smile that he doesn't believe for one second, “Full of surprises.”

 

“Mmhm,” he nods, lips pursed, his expression enough to convey just how much he doesn't.

 

Damon chooses to ignore him and turns back to tinkering instead.

 

Stefan really isn't sure what to make of it. He wants to believe that Damon has a handle on it, but he knows his brother. Knows him so well, he can literally see the storm brewing on the horizon and all any one of them can do is wait for the moment of impact. Inevitable. Unpredictable.

 

He shakes his head and sighs. Damon responds in kind by rolling his eyes, making sure he positions himself just so Stefan can catch a glimpse in the side view mirror.

 

He wants to say something, but isn't sure what he could possibly say that could make any of this better. He doesn't have to think too hard though as he's saved from the futility then by the buzz of his phone vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He's so distracted, he doesn't even bother looking down at the caller as he swipes his finger across the screen to accept the call.

 

“Hello,” he answers.

 

“Hi.”

 

If he'd been surprised by Damon earlier, he's completely floored now.

 

“Caroline,” he says, a statement of fact that serves no purpose.

 

There's a small laugh at the other end of the line, and he can't help the little twitch of a smile.

 

“Yes,” she confirms, amusement seeping from her words, “Caroline. That would be me.”

 

“Hi,” he breathes out, and tries to ignore the smirk on Damon's face as he shamelessly eavesdrops and doesn't even try to hide it.

 

He turns on his feet and re-enters the house, away from Damon's perked up ears and leaves him to his car and whatever it is that he's actually doing, denial, pretend, whatever it may be, and heads for the living room. He stops by the fireplace, his free hand gripping the edge of the mantelpiece as he tries to steady himself and stop himself from flying away.

 

“Hi,” she says again, and there's nothing but tension crackling through the phone line to fill the silence. “Sooo . . .”

 

“So.”

 

And then he hears her breath leave her lips in one big, heavy whoosh, and she's just running away with her words, “So, I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said and I know you're trying to give me space, and I don't want to confuse things further, or lead you on, or get your hopes up or mine, and I know you were going to give me time, and I need it. I do. I need time, and I know we're standing in this really weird and awkward space right now, and I need to figure out so much stuff, but I need you. I mean, I need,” she stutters and catches her breath and his own heart is lodged halfway up his throat, and then she sighs, and there's a tiny moment of silence where time freezes, before she says ever so softly, “We're still friends, right?”

 

He swallows, “Always.”

 

There's a pause, and if he could see her, he'd see her nod as she breathes out a “Good. That's good.”

 

There's relief in her voice, and though a part of him is disappointed, he pushes it away. He'd told her he'd wait until she was ready, and he'd meant every word of it.

 

And so if friendship is all she wants from him for now, then he'd give her that.

 

Because he loves her.

 

There's no denying it. Or running from it. It's out there now, and they both know it.

 

“So,” he says, pushing away from the fireplace and walking over to the cabinet to pour himself a drink, “Let me guess, Bonnie?”

 

“Yes!” she practically screams in his ear, “How did you know?”

 

And just like that, everything falls back into place and the heavy tension dissipates and his chest can rise and fall with ease.

 

“Because Damon's outside singing along to Green Day while dismantling his car, and putting it back together just for fun, and is hell-bent on pretending nothing has changed.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Well, Bonnie's being all weirdly calm and Zen, and I'm not being crazy am I, but it's not normal right? They can't be that okay? I mean, I'm so not okay, but at least I know, barring any major disasters, I'll get to see her again, but Bonnie? I'm worried about her.”

 

He sighs, swallows down his drink and falls back on to the couch, “I know. I'm just holding my breath, waiting for the bomb to go off.”

 

“She won't talk to me.”

 

And she sounds so sad as she says it. Her voice cuts through him and he curls his fingers tight against his palm.

 

“Give her time.”

 

There's a moment as those words sink in and he realises the truth of them. And of course she does too and her reply is something he sees coming since he set himself up for it so perfectly.

 

“That's good advice.”

 

And there's more than a little of *hint hint* in her tone.

 

He shakes his head, grim smile on his face, “Damon isn't Bonnie, Caroline. He doesn't do rational, and I'm worried, the longer I let him stew, the worse it's gonna get.”

 

“Stefan, it hasn't even been that long, and anyway, maybe you should give him more credit. Maybe . . . maybe he won't go off the deep end and go on a crazy killing spree once reality sets in . . .”

 

He laughs, “You want to try that again. Say it like you actually believe it.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice, “It's Damon. Damon is . . .”

 

“Damon.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

There's silence again. But it's different somehow. Comfortable. It's enough to get him thinking, catch on to the end of a thought before she wades into the silence again;

 

“Hey Stefan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“We're gonna be okay. All of us.”

 

“I know.”

 

When she finally hangs up and he's left sitting there with his phone in his hand, staring at the floor, it's Damon that breaks his reverie as he sneaks into the room unnoticed.

 

“So you and Blondie come up with a plan yet to stop me from losing the plot and going on a murderous rampage?”

 

He looks up and he thinks the smile on his face must be a little disconcerting and if the subtle frown on Damon's face is anything to go by, he thinks he must be right.

 

He stands up, walks over to his brother and places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

 

“Nope,” he shrugs, same strange upturn of his lips still on his face, before walking away and leaving a bewildered Damon in his wake, “Rampage away.”

 

It takes him a moment to process, and Stefan's already halfway up the stairs, before he scoffs out, “Nice try, Stefan. Reverse psychology. Pfft. Never works.”

 

He answers him with a chuckle and the sound of his bedroom door closing shut, leaving him to mutter under his breath;

 

“And I'm supposed to be the psychopath.”

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if there had been any room for doubt, he obliterates it with a smile through the window of her front door, and a lingering kiss on her cheek. The words in between mean a little something too.

 

 

 

**(ii)**

 

 

 

_“_ _Is that why you feel you need to stay away from me? Is it because you think I haven't moved on?”_

She remembers his face. Remembers his eyes boring into hers with a desperation to make her see, make her believe that he has.

 

Funny thing is, she knows. Has known for a while now, could scarcely allow herself to think it, let alone believe it. That one Stefan Salvatore's heart now beat in a completely different direction.

 

Hers.

 

And if there had been any room for doubt, he obliterates it with a smile through the window of her front door, and a lingering kiss on her cheek. The words in between mean a little something too.

 

_(Mean everything)._

 

It both scares and thrills her, and part of her still believes it can't be true.

 

Because, no, she isn't girly little Caroline any more, but it doesn't mean that all her insecurities and self-doubt aren't hiding away, only to pop out now and again to taunt and tease.

 

And he knows it, he does.

 

She remembers it there on his face, silently reassuring her, urging her to believe. To hope.

 

But there are two parts to his question and what it all comes down to is this.

 

_It's too soon._

 

Her head and heart are a tangled web of emotions, that she can't tease the end of between two fingers, let alone weave apart. She barely has her head above the grief to stop her from drowning in it. She's still ridden by guilt, haunted by the lifeless eyes of souls she tormented, and she sees _him_ every time. Standing there beside her, joining her in her madness, loving every second as much as her.

 

And it's her fault.

 

Despite how he rationalises it away. It is.

 

He says he's forgiven her.

 

But part of her thinks he's just convincing himself, and she certainly hasn't forgiven herself.

 

But it's so easy to miss him.

 

Especially when there are moments throughout the day her breath catches painfully in her chest as she remembers the fate of her friends.

 

Beautiful, kind Elena, sleeping on for an eternity she can't put a number on. Not when it's entwined with every beat of Bonnie's heart. Brilliant, unfathomably strong Bonnie Bennett. Her best friend.

 

It's all kinds of twisted, and she knows no one understands that better than Bonnie herself.

 

So when she calls her again, for the fourth time today and is answered only by the sound of her voicemail asking her to leave a message in a bright, cheery tone, she struggles to blink back her tears.

 

She wants to help.

 

But how is she supposed to do that when Bonnie has buried herself in a mountain of denial?

 

She isn't one to judge though. Denial and her are as thick as thieves.

 

But she needs to talk to someone.

 

She needs to talk to _him._

Stefan Salvatore. Not the man with whom she stands on the precipice of something more.

 

But Stefan Salvatore. _Her friend._

 

And so she finds herself taking a deep breath and dialling his number before she can think about it too hard.

 

He answers with a distracted _“Hello”_ and the “Hi” that leaves her lips is scratchy, her mouth suddenly dry.

 

_“_ _Caroline,”_ he says. A statement, perfunctory and not without a tone of surprise.

 

The small laugh that leaves her lips then as she confirms, that yes, it is her, feels like the loosening of a pressure valve, and somehow she's not worried any more.

 

The words flow out in a rush.

 

And when she finally gets to the point, and he answers her without hesitation, she knows they'll be okay.

 

_“_ _Always.”_

**TBC.**

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't move to stand up, he doesn't move at all apart from a half-hearted shrug, “Well, you know what they say Bon-Bon, if you can't beat them, join them.”

**(iii)**

 

 

 

 

“Damn it Alaric, what the hell have you been eating?”

 

He lolls to the side, leaning heavily against him as Damon tries to get him standing.

 

“Drinking,” he answers, still present enough to correct him.

 

Damon grunts with the exertion of pulling him up, swings one of his arms around his shoulders, “Yeah, no kidding. What are you ninety percent whiskey?”

 

“Ninety-six,” he slurs into his shoulder.

 

“Come on buddy, let's get you home.”

 

He somehow manages to drag him out of the bar and towards his car, but manoeuvring him onto the back seat is not an easy task. Once he finally gets him in, he just slumps back and he looks barely alive lying there. He counts the rise and fall of his chest to reassure himself and almost doesn't hear him whisper, “What home?”

 

He doesn't answer him.

 

He can't.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Stefan wakes to the sound of the crash of glass shattering, and a harsh bark of “Damn it!”

 

He doesn't bother with slipping a shirt over his white vest and hurries downstairs, one foot slipping after another on the steps.

 

He's greeted by the sight of Damon dumping an unconscious Alaric on to their sofa, the remaining shards of the crystal decanter on the floor, whiskey soaking into the carpet.

 

He stands there, frowning, “What happened?”

 

Damon turns his head to look up at him as he tilts Alaric's to the side on the cushion. Choking on your own vomit was not a way to die.

 

“What does it look like?” Damon asks, taking a step back, his eyes never leaving his friend as he does, “I think he's decided liver failure's the best way to go.”

 

Stefan rubs a tired hand across his face, “Damon . . .”

 

He stumbles back, collapses in the chair across from him, and lets out a frustrated groan, “God! I could kill him!”

 

“Who?”

 

“Kai! The sick bastard!”

 

“You already did.”

 

“Yeah, well, I'd like to do it again. Slow and torturous and painful, and then do it all over again.”

 

He doesn't say anything.

 

Because part of him feels exactly the same.

 

The pain and suffering he inflicted on everyone he cares about is just sometimes too much to even comprehend. It makes his blood boil, tickles the edge of his darkness, toys with coaxing the ripper out to play. It's a dangerous road to go down, and it scares him, because he can only imagine what's running through his brother's mind in turn.

 

But just as well as he knows him, Damon knows him too.

 

“It's okay Stefan. I'm not going to do anything stupid.” He leans forward, eyes still on Alaric's sleeping form, “I'm selfish, but not _that_ selfish.” And then he says, surprising himself as the words fall out of his mouth, almost as if the thought just came to him, like he can hardly believe them to be true, “They need me.”

 

“They?”

 

“Alaric, Bonnie . . .”

 

“Me?”

 

His lips twist up into a smirk, “You don't need me Stefan, you've got _Caroline._ ”

 

And the emphasis on 'Caroline' is very deliberate and teasing, and Stefan shakes his head in that way that he does when Damon's being ridiculous, but he loves him regardless.

 

“Well,” he says, “You're wrong. I'm always gonna need my brother.”

 

Damon smiles. It's a genuine smile and one that fills him with hope that maybe they will all turn out okay in the end.

 

“Go back to bed, Stefan. I've got this.”

 

He presses his lips together and nods. Damon doesn't move from his spot when he leaves the room. He knows this because he returns not a few minutes later, and he looks back up at him in surprise, “What-”

 

“I know you do,” he says interrupting him. “But,” he shrugs, and then he's throwing him a blood bag, and Damon catches it deftly with one hand.

 

He doesn't finish his sentence, just takes the remaining armchair and settles back with a blood bag of his own.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“Uh no. What do you think you're doing?” Damon's glare as he swipes the bottle from Alaric's grip only helps to get his point across.

 

Alaric stares back, anger feeding the creases around his bleary eyes. It doesn't bode well that the first thing he does is reach for a bottle the minute he wakes up, “What does it look like?”

 

“I think you had more than enough to last you three months last night.”

 

“Says the guy who drinks so much I'm sure his blood tastes of bourbon.”

 

“Says the guy who's a vampire, who's liver is already way past dead. And anyway,” he puts the bottle back on the cabinet, “My alcohol.”

 

“Fine,” Alaric snaps, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch, “I'll just go get my own.”

 

He moves towards the door, but Damon's already vamp speeding in front of him and stopping him in his tracks. He tries a different tact, softens his voice and gives honesty a go, “Ric, I'm worried about you okay?”

 

“Move.”

 

“Ric . . .”

 

He pushes him aside, and he lets him. Doesn't turn to watch him go. Looks up instead to find Stefan standing there, a grim look on his face to match his own.

 

They have a long way to go.

 

 

\-----

 

 

It's just another thing she doesn't need to feel guilty about.

 

Thinks it's a little unfair since there's so much already that's weighing down on her.

 

But then that's not fair either.

 

She knows Caroline only wants to be there for her. She's one of her best friends after all.

 

One of them.

 

The other . . .

 

She shakes her head, because no she isn't going to do this again.

 

Still, she can't bring herself to talk about it. Not yet. And so she swipes her finger across the screen and rejects the phone call.

 

Again.

 

She drops the phone on to her bed, and it's only a few seconds before it lights up again. A message this time.

 

_I get it. I do. Just know, I'm here, ready when you want to talk about it. Xxx_

“Oh Caroline,” she breathes out into the emptiness, feeling the heaviness sitting on her chest that much more.

 

It feels like the world's colluding against her today. She only wants to be left alone, but the universe has other plans.

 

There's a knock on the door, and it isn't one she recognises.

 

She forces her legs forward, hand hesitating on the doorknob before twisting it open.

 

Looking up she's met by a guarded smile, “Bonnie, hey.”

 

“Stefan? What are you doing here? Caroline's not here. She's-”

 

“No, I know,” he slides his hands into his pockets and hunches forward, “I'm actually here to see you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Look, I know you have a lot going on right now-”

 

“Is this about Caroline?”

 

She figures Caroline has probably been talking to Stefan. Despite the mess of feelings between the two, she knows how much their friendship means to each other, and it's not something either one of them would forsake so easily. But he surprises her again.

 

“No. This is about Damon.”

 

“Damon?”

 

“Yeah,” he nods, and he looks a little uncomfortable under her gaze, like he knows he shouldn't be asking this of her, and something tells her Damon has no idea he's here, “I need your help.”

 

She sighs, “Okay,” as if she would have answered any other way.

 

 

\-----

 

 

There's a part of him that questions whether he's done the right thing.

 

But when she opens the door, he's struck by an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss. And the emptiness he sees in her eyes is something he recognises. Something he's seen before.

 

In Damon's.

 

And he thinks maybe, just maybe, she needs him just as much.

 

And it isn't wrong at all.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“You know I'm starting to think that glass is permanently glued to your hand.”

 

He looks up from his seat, surprise barely concealed on his otherwise broody face. He doesn't move to stand up, he doesn't move at all apart from a half-hearted shrug, “Well, you know what they say Bon-Bon, if you can't beat them, join them.”

 

“Not like you to be giving up so easily.”

 

She walks further into the living room, and sits herself down on the couch. He looks up at her, pins her to the spot with piercing blue eyes, “I thought you were avoiding me?”

 

She cocks her head to the side, “No. Just the world and everyone in it.”

 

“And why would you do that when the world we live in is such a joyous, pleasant, peaceful place?” The words are positively dripping in sarcasm and the smile on his face is just the icing.

 

She cracks her own smile, and nods in agreement, “Isn't it just?”

 

He downs the rest of his drink and stands up abruptly, moves away to stand by the window.

 

She doesn't follow.

 

“You okay?” she asks after a moment.

 

“Are you?” he retorts.

 

She thinks her silence should be answer enough.

 

“If you're here to make sure that I'm not going to go off on some crazy killing spree or just do something plain stupid, you don't have to worry. I've already told Stefan, I'm fine.”

 

She turns in her seat to look at him, a dark silhouette standing there in front of the large window, “Really?”

 

“Yes. Really. I mean it could be worse. I could be Alaric.”

 

“Yeah,” she breathes out, and she tries not to even think about what he must be going through. She doesn't know how he's still managing to breathe let alone get up every morning.

 

She stands up and walks slowly over to the window, stopping beside him to stare out at the same horizon, “I'm sorry.”

 

He looks down sideways at her. She sees the motion in her peripheral vision because she can't quite get herself to meet his gaze, “For what?”

 

Her hands are balled up into tight fists, and she can feel her walls starting to crumble.

 

She'd only come here because Stefan had been worried about his brother, had believed she'd be the only one who could get through to him.

 

How ironic then that Damon really was okay. Just as he said he was. Not brilliant. Not even good. But okay.

 

But she? Another story altogether.

 

Elena may have made her swear not to let herself feel guilty, tried to have taken away the burden by telling her that it had been her turn now to do something for _her,_ but in reality? The guilt is a continual presence in the pit of her belly, swimming around in circles making her feel sick to her stomach. There is just so much she could have done differently, and maybe if she had, they wouldn't be standing here now.

 

“For everything,” she says so quietly, it's barely audible. But of course he hears her. Vampire hearing and all.

 

He turns around to face her, but she's still looking out the window, can only imagine the expression on his face as an irritated sigh of “Bonnie” leaves his lips.

 

She can feel the pressure of tears start to build up behind her eyes, but she refuses to cry. She refuses.

 

But then he's putting both hands on her shoulders and forcing her to turn around to face him, and she still can't look up. And so he bends his own head, and says more seriously than she's ever heard him, “I am only going to say this once, so listen up; none, _none_ of this is your fault. None of it. It's all on Kai. And oh I know what you're thinking, _oh if only I'd managed to stab him when I had the chance,_ or _I never should have left him behind_ or _I should have given him what he wanted every damn time he fluttered his evil eyelashes_ -”

 

Her lips quirk up at the words and his mock impression of her, but Damon just continues on with a roll of his eyes, “Look, whatever it is that you think you could have done differently, I don't think it would have changed anything. We were always gonna end up here, and it's not on us. It's on him.”

 

A tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away, takes a breath, “And you're telling me, you actually believe all that? That you're not even feeling a little bit guilty yourself?”

 

“Yes,” he says, with a shrug of his shoulder, and a smile that tells her he's lying and he knows that he is.

 

She laughs, and it sounds wet, because the tears are still rolling down her cheeks despite her best efforts. She shakes her head, “Liar.”

 

“But you already knew that.”

 

She nods, and the smile on her face finally cracks, and she can't help the sob that leaves her lips, “I miss her.”

 

He steps forward then, and pulls her into a hug. Face pressing into his chest as the tears keep coming, and he whispers into her hair, “Me too.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

_Come over._

It's a two word text with no explanation or elaboration and she'd be lying if she says she hadn't been even the slightest bit intrigued when she'd received it.

 

But they're friends, she remembers, and so she pushes away the doubt and the fear and turns up on the doorstep of the Salvatore mansion.

 

The front door is open, and she pushes it aside. The habit of not knocking and just letting herself in now second nature to her.

 

She lets it close softly behind her and walks in, but the instinctive “Hello” that would otherwise effortlessly fall from her mouth gets caught on the end of her tongue when she catches sight of them.

 

Bonnie and Damon.

 

Hugging.

 

She freezes on the spot and blinks.

 

She can hear her best friend's tears and finds she can't look away from Damon's hand on her lower back.

 

“Caroline.”

 

Her head snaps around to the sound of her name being whispered, and finds Stefan standing at the end of the hallway. He nods his head towards the door behind him, silently asking her to follow. She does, but not before throwing one last glance at her friend.

 

She enters the kitchen, closing the door behind her and points a thumb in the direction of the living room, “What's going on?”

 

“So I know you told me to give Damon time, but I was worried about him, especially with everything going on with Alaric, and I thought maybe Bonnie could help.” He moves around to the breakfast table, picks up a few of the leftover plates from lunch and the dirty glasses and dumps them next to the sink, “And I also knew you weren't having any luck with Bonnie, so I thought maybe . . .”

 

He lets the rest of the sentence drift and she fills in the rest.

 

He looks back at her, and there are lines of worry framing his eyes, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it. And I probably should have spoken to you first _before_ I went to Bonnie because I know you guys are friends, and I didn't want to step on any toes but I thought . . .”

 

She shakes her head in disbelief, cutting him off, a smile growing on her lips. What she wants to say is _you're an idiot and I love you,_ but what she says instead is,

 

“It's okay,” and then making sure to hold his gaze, “Thank you.”

 

He smiles back, and it's bashful and relieved and beautiful and makes her heart race.

 

He breaks her gaze when he turns away and lets the water run from the taps and fill up the sink. He squeezes a generous amount of washing up liquid into the water and she comes to stand next to him, watching as the bubbles form and froth.

 

“You know you have a dishwasher right?”

 

“I'm an old fashioned kind of guy.”

 

“Mmm,” she nods, smile still on her face, “Really? I never would have guessed.”

 

“Hey,” he says with mock indignation, and she laughs in response.

 

Standing to the side, she watches as he rolls up his shirtsleeves over his elbows, and gets stuck in, forearms wet and covered in bubbles. It's a good look on him. _A really good look._

She takes a breath and moves away to grab a dish towel.

 

Stefan looks back at her, “You don't need to do that.”

 

“Its fine,” she says grabbing the first plate, shaking off the excess water and drying it.

 

They carry on like that for a few minutes in silence before Caroline lets out a little sigh.

 

He hands her a plate, “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” and then a few seconds later, “It's just, I guess I didn't realise how good of friends they'd become.”

 

There's a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, “Caroline, are you jealous?”

 

“No,” she says quickly, a knee jerk, defensive reflex he sees through easy enough.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Shut up. I'm not. It's just . . .”

 

“It's just, what?”

 

“I don't know. A little weird . . . and lonely.”

 

“Lonely?” he asks, eyes narrowing in confusion.

 

“Yeah, I'm the only one left now in the 'We hate Damon Salvatore Club'.”

 

He laughs, “I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would sign up.”

 

She shrugs, “Not the same.”

 

“I'm sure if you ask nicely, Damon will share.”

 

“Hey! I don't need to share! I have first dibs on Bonnie, okay? We've been friends since we were this _high_. I've known her longer, we've been through everything together, and . . .” she stops her rant at the look on Stefan's face and sighs, “Okay, so maybe I'm a little jealous.”

 

“It's okay.”

 

She looks away again and lets out a long breath, “I'm glad she's finally talking to someone about it though. Even if it is Damon.”

 

“Of course you are. Because you're a good friend, and you're _you._ ”

 

She looks up at him, soft smile on his face, eyes on hers as he hands her the last of the glasses, thumb brushing the back of her hand as he does. His touch and his gaze lingering.

 

She can feel the blush warming her cheeks as she's stuck in the moment with him, his skin still wet on hers. It goes on a little too long to be entirely friendly and so she breaks the tension the only way she knows how.

 

Dipping her hand in the sink, she grabs a handful of the soapy bubbles, watches as confusion turns to realisation to _oh no you don't_ and then proceeds to smear it across his cheek.

 

At his wet disgruntled expression, she throws her head back and laughs.

 

He laughs with her but that doesn't stop her from getting a splattering of water on her face, dripping down on to her dress.

 

Of course Damon and Bonnie choose that moment to walk in, “What are you guys doing?”

 

She glances up at Stefan and the mischievous glint in his eyes is an all too rare a sight. But she gets it, she does. Because maybe a little fun is just what they need. And so she silently agrees on a truce and decides to join forces, turns on Bonnie, innocent smile on her face as she steps forward. Bonnie, to her credit, catches on quick, “Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“Caroline,” she says slowly as she backs away but that doesn't save her.

 

Damon rolls his eyes, looks up at Stefan and asks, “Seriously?”

 

“Yep,” is all he says.

 

Damon shrugs, “Okay fine. Remember you started it.”

 

Stefan grins, “Bring it on.”

 

 

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She straightens up, takes a large gulp of her wine and says without thinking, “This is okay right? Dinner and wine. Friends do this, right?”

**(iv)**

 

 

“It's really stupid.”

 

“What is?”

 

“I'm pathetic.”

 

Bonnie sighs, looks up from her book and asks, “What are you talking about?”

 

“I keep doing this . . . thing.”

 

She tries to keep the growing irritation out of her voice, “What _thing_ Caroline?”

 

“Blushing,” she says and then proceeds to do exactly that, “I can literally feel my face going up in flames, burning red, every single time.”

 

She bites her lip to stop the smile, pushes her to complete the sentence, “Every time . . .”

 

She sinks her head into her hands and mutters behind them, “He touches me, and it's not even the sexy kind of touching-”

 

Bonnie raises her brow at that, teasing smirk lifting the corner of her mouth.

 

Caroline just rolls her eyes, “Oh you know what I mean! It'll be innocent little brushes here and there and ugh . . . Every. Time.”

 

The laughter that spills from her lips can't be helped.

 

“Shut up!” she scowls, picking up the pillow from behind her and throwing it in her direction. She twists to the side and it just brushes past her shoulder, and she's still laughing. “It's not funny Bonnie. This is a real problem okay?”

 

Caroline's face is a mixture of frustration and annoyance, and the pout on her lips is something she'd become well accustomed to growing up. It's been a while since she last saw it.

 

“Hey, look you're the one who wanted to be friends with the guy you're hopelessly in love with.”

 

She sighs, falls back on to the bed, hands lacing over her stomach as she looks up at the ceiling, “I know. I just . . . I need more time.”

 

She debates the next words that fall from her mouth but in the end decides to just come out with it. It's something she needs to hear, “And in the mean time you're torturing him and yourself.”

 

Caroline looks up towards her, sitting there cross legged beside her, “Do you really think I'm doing that?”

 

She purses her lips, doesn't say anything, her silence answer enough.

 

“I don't mean to.” The words are softly spoken and she can feel the truth of it, thick and dense as it sinks into the air around them.

 

Reaching out, she places a comforting hand on her leg and only says, “I know.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

It's been just over three weeks since they'd laid Elena to rest in her magical coma, and shut her away from the outside world. Three weeks since Alaric's world had come crashing down and he'd been drinking himself to the brink of death every night. Three weeks since Lily had vanished without a single clue as to where she was or, perhaps more importantly, what she was doing.

 

It's also three weeks since Stefan made his vow of patience and he'll admit it to no one, but it's proving more difficult than he'd first thought it would be.

 

He stares down at the empty page of his journal, pen tapping against the paper.

 

Blank.

 

His mind is completely and entirely blank.

 

Although, that's not strictly true.

 

No, because he's often struck by waves of thoughts of _her._ Like now. Thoughts of nothing but soft blonde curls slipping through his fingers, flushed cheeks and pretty, breathless smiles. Flashes of a glimpse of white teeth biting into a full lower lip and the urge to replace them with his own. The feel of silky soft skin under his fingertips and the heat of her breath against his neck as she sighs, peaceful, content, satisfied-

 

He shuts his journal with a thud, throws it back in the direction of his bed and lets the pen clatter on to his desk.

 

He leans back on the legs of his chair and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

It's sweet torture and he only has himself to blame.

 

For all of it.

 

It catches him off guard sometimes. Just how hard and fast he's fallen, but then he realises that that's the second time today he's lying to himself.

 

Because, if he's honest, he's been falling under her spell for years, and it's difficult to pinpoint just when it was that he'd found himself completely, irrevocably, irrefutably in love with his best friend. Not that that matters, really. Because here he is.

 

Alone in his room, unable to have her, unable to escape her.

 

“There you are. Brooding alone in your room. Shocker.”

 

His eyes snap open as he leans forward and falls back on to all four legs of his chair. He looks up at Damon standing there at his open doorway leaning up against the frame, familiar smirk on his face. He crosses his arms across his chest, eyes quickly flitting around his room, “What? Blondie not call you today for another of your scintillating four hour conversations?”

 

He twists his face up in denial, “We do not have four-”

 

“Of course not Stefan. Look, I'm not here for another round of this, I just wanted to let you know I'm heading out for a couple of hours.”

 

Sitting up a little straighter, Stefan narrows his eyes up at him. “Okaaaay,” he says slowly, “Why are you telling me?”

 

“Because I know you brother, you'll worry so much your hero hair will wilt with the stress.”

 

Stefan shakes his head, knows there's more he's not saying, can almost see the flashing sign above Damon's head that has a downward pointing arrow and reads “Liar!”

 

“Hmm,” he nods, leaning back into his chair, “Yeah I'm pretty sure I would have stayed up all night waiting for you to come home, safe and sound.”

 

“Exactly!” Damon grins, “And now you can leave the mothering to our actual mother . . . oh wait. Never mind.”

 

There's a wry turn of his lips with the words. It's not funny in the slightest, but he figures finding amusement in it is better than the alternative.

 

“Or you know, you can go pay a certain someone a visit,” Damon continues, wiggling his ridiculous eyebrows, “instead of wasting away your evening, alone, in your bedroom. _Such_ a cliché.”

 

Stefan rolls his eyes, releasing a well put-upon sigh, “Go on, get out of here. And be careful with whatever it is that you're up to.”

 

Damon leaves him with a wink and backward wave, “Always.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

She spends most of the afternoon dwelling on Bonnie's words. It's as if she came in like a hurricane, blew all the doors off their hinges with her words and swept out of there, leaving her alone to pick up the pieces. But she can't even be mad. She knows it had never been her intention and Bonnie’s only ever looking out for her. And anyway, she'd asked, hadn't she? She'd wanted the truth, and she'd got it.

 

The house feels a whole lot emptier now, which of course it would, and it shouldn't surprise her. Still, it's quiet, too quiet, and her thoughts seem that much louder and harder to hide from.

 

It makes sense then to switch on the radio, let the music spill from the speakers, turn the volume up loud and dance around the kitchen like no one's watching. Like she hasn't got a care in the world because she doesn't give the grief, the sadness, self-doubt time to settle and sink in. Glitter in a snow globe.

 

Of course she gets far too carried away, shaking her hips to _Taylor Swift_ , that she completely forgets about the sauce burning on the stove. And of course she doesn't notice him standing there until she turns around wooden spoon in hand singing, “ _Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play_.” And yes her eyes widen at the sight of him and her cheeks flush furiously but that doesn't stop her from singing the next line, “ _And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate_ ,” or the next one along with the dance moves, “ _Baby I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. Shake it off . . ._ ” She sticks the wooden spoon under his nose, and grins expectantly up at him.

 

He laughs, shakes his head, “No.”

 

“Oh come on Stefan! I know you secretly know all the words.”

 

“It's not a secret Caroline if you have the record constantly on loop and it's the only song I ever hear!”

 

She pulls back the wooden spoon, mock pouts, but doesn't push. The smile doesn't drop from his face, and she just stands there matching his grin like a crazed idiot.

 

“Hi.”

 

He smiles wider, “Hi.”

 

And there she goes again with the blushing and there hasn't even been any skin on skin action yet. Pathetic. Completely pathetic.

 

“I'm sorry for sneaking up on you, but I knocked a few times and well, you couldn't hear me and . . . what's that smell?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Something's burning.”

 

Her cheeks.

 

“Caroline . . .”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“I think whatever you were-”

 

Her eyes widen in horror, “Oh no! My sauce!” And then she's rushing back to the stove and staring down in horror at the remains of her dinner, hoping the smoke detectors don't go off as she dumps the ruined saucepan in the sink.

 

He hovers over her shoulder, and says with raised eyebrows, “Oops.”

 

It's enough to break through her defences and she's stepping back from her most recent culinary disaster with a deep breath and a burst of laughter, “Well there goes my dinner.”

 

He says nothing for a while, just watches as she turns on the tap and soaks the pan. He takes a step backwards, comes to rest against the kitchen counter. She doesn't see his face when he says, “I mean, I could put something together if you'd like?”

 

She spins to look up at him.

 

There's a hopeful glimmer shining from his eyes and she can hear Bonnie's words banging around inside her skull, and she really should say no . . .

 

“Sure. If you want to, that is.”

 

Stefan shrugs, “I want to.”

 

“Okay then,” Caroline nods.

 

She moves to the side, spreads her arms out wide, “Okay. Well then, the kitchen's all yours.”

 

And it really is. He moves around effortlessly, knows where almost everything is, and she has to remind herself that of course he would. He'd spent a lot of time here. Not just when her mom had been sick, but before that too, as a house guest when he'd been caught up in all that Damon, Elena drama.

 

“Was there a reason you popped by, other than to cook me dinner?”

 

He doesn't look up as he finishes chopping the onions, “No particular reason, just thought I’d check in on you and see how you were doing.”

 

“I'm okay,” she says, not convinced she’s getting the entire truth, but not willing to prod any harder.

 

“Good.” He throws the onions into the heated pan, the instant sizzle of water on oil adding to the background sound of the now quieter music from the radio.

 

She pours herself another glass of wine and settles on the stool. Somewhere along the way she ends up leaning her head against her propped up hand, elbow resting on the counter, and just sits there, silently watching him.

 

He doesn't look in her direction, concentrating instead on the task at hand, but there's a soft smile on his lips that doesn't waver and she thinks he knows, _knows,_ her eyes are stuck on him and knows full well the effect he's having on her.

 

She straightens up, takes a large gulp of her wine and says without thinking, “This is okay right? Dinner and wine. Friends do this, right?”

 

He gives the saucepan a little shake and turns to look at her.

 

“It's just . . .” she starts and stops, and Bonnie's words are still rattling inside her head, and that feeling she's been sitting on all night? It's guilt.

 

“Caroline?” he prompts.

 

“It's just Bonnie said something earlier today and it got me thinking.”

 

Stefan sticks the lid on top of the pan, wipes his hands on the towel beside him and turns to face her fully, giving her his full attention, and not making it any easier on her.

 

She takes a breath and just comes out with it, “Am I torturing you?”

 

Surprise is an understatement as he lets out a small confused laugh, shaking his head ever so slightly, “What are you talking about?”

 

“Its just Bonnie said that us hanging out as friends isn't really being fair to you and I'm only torturing you. And I know you said you'd wait but I know this isn't really what you want . . .”

 

And the smile on his face drops away as he averts his eyes, fingers curling around the edge of the counter top.

 

“Stefan . . . ?”

 

“Are you torturing me?” he repeats the question. Answers it a long moment later and her heart drops with it, “Yes.”

 

And then she's shaking her head, apology there on her tongue, but he's reaching out and grabbing her hand and forcing the words to die.

 

“Caroline . . .” he breathes, “If you're asking me if it's hard to stop myself from wrapping you in my arms every time I see you? Or if I struggle to stop myself from leaning forward and kissing you until we're both breathless? Then yes.”

 

He ducks down slightly, forces her to meet his eyes, “But I told you I would wait until you're ready, because yes, I want you. But I want the _whole_ of you. So no guilt. No pressure.” And then just in case she hadn't got the message with the smouldering gaze and heated skin of his thumb running over her hand, “I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be.”

 

She lets out a deep, shaky breath, “Okay.” And then, “So long as you know it's not easy for me either.”

 

He grins at her and the butterflies in her belly erupt in a frenzied flurry, and are not helped at all when he answers back with a wink, “Oh I know.”

 

She pushes him away, “Shut up.”

 

He laughs.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“You're late.”

 

He makes a show of looking at the non-existent watch on his wrist, “Oh I'm sorry, is _that_ the time?”

 

Enzo rolls his eyes, “Shut up. Sit down and don't make a scene.”

 

Damon bristles at the tone but the look on Enzo's face is enough to set the warning bells off and he swallows down his retort and takes the chair opposite him.

 

He tugs on his leather jacket and leans forward, “So why am I here?”

 

Enzo mirrors his position and lowers his voice, “It's about your dear mother.”

 

“Lily?” he raises a brow, “What about her?”

 

“I'm worried she's up to something.”

 

“Like what exactly?”

 

“I'm not sure, but it's not good.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Damon frowns, “Surely she knows by now, Kai's,” he runs a finger across his neck, and cocks it to the side with added sound effect, “And he double crossed her, so there's no way she's going to be able to get her creepy little vitchy friends back now . . .”

 

The all too serious look on Enzo's face stops him in his tracks.

 

And suddenly he's filled with a sense of dread that the nightmare's only just beginning, and Enzo's next words don't help at all;

 

“That's where you're wrong, my friend. _That's where you're wrong._ ”

 

 

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another step closer, and a deep breath in and out, “You don't have to pretend with me.” And it's a ghost of another time, and yet the words have never rung more true.

 

 

**(v)**

 

The words “We need to talk” followed by a no nonsense, commanding “now” leaves no room for interpretation.

 

Those words have never meant anything good, especially when spoken by a citizen of Mystic Falls. Not now. Not ever.

 

He switches the screen of his phone off as he walks into the living room.

 

A pang of regret and a healthy dose of 'Damn it Damon, your timing sucks!' flying through his mind at the sight of Caroline sitting eagerly on the couch, legs half folded underneath her, DVD set clutched in both hands.

 

The smile on her face dims at his serious expression, and she doesn't miss a beat, “What's wrong?”

 

He drops his head and lifts it back up on a sigh, reluctant to burst their little bubble of peace.

 

He has a feeling it's going to be anything but going forward.

 

 

\-----

 

 

She's just about had a gutful of Kai. Even dead, the bastard has somehow still managed to find yet another way to ruin their lives.

 

She watches Damon pace the living room of the Salvatore boarding house, can literally see the rage building inside of him. It's not good. Especially when he hasn't completely dealt with Elena being gone. Together, it's a potent, dangerous mix of emotions.

 

Stefan's eyes are on him too, and she shares a glance with him across the room.

 

He gives her a little shake of his head and sighs, “Damon, calm down.”

 

 _Calm down?_ She looks over to Caroline, perched on the armrest beside him. Her look must read a little along the lines of _Really? When has telling someone who's spitting mad with rage to_ calm down _actually ever worked? Seriously? I know you love the guy, Caroline, but . . ._

Caroline's expression in return reads, _Yes, I know he's an idiot. But he's_ my _idiot._

“ _Calm down?_ No I won't freaking calm down Stefan! I am sick to death of constantly being three steps behind that asshole at every turn, and he's _dead_!”

 

“Exactly! So raging over Kai isn't going to help us is it? What exactly did Enzo say?”

 

“You mean apart from our dear old mother being reunited with her merry band of heretics?”

 

“Yeah, apart from that?”

 

“Nothing much, just that she's planning something big. And he's worried enough to warn us.”

 

“Well, _that's_ useful,” Caroline says, and Bonnie can't help but agree.

 

Damon glares at her, “And thank _you_ for your invaluable input.”

 

Stefan frowns up at him, “Look, sniping and getting worked up isn't going to get us anywhere. We need more information. Can we trust him? Enzo?”

 

“Yes,” Damon answers, but Bonnie can read him a lot easier these days and there's a hint of doubt muddying the blue of his eyes, and she can't help but feel a thread of that same doubt twist its way around the insides of her ribcage and pull.

 

She has a hard time trusting anyone these days.

 

And Enzo? Well, he'd been turned by the very woman whose motives they were questioning, she can only imagine what kind of pull that has.

 

“Lily,” Stefan says, and there's a determined expression on his face that suggests a plan is afoot, “Maybe if we just talk to her, get her onside, maybe we could-”

 

“Talking!” Damon interrupts him, hand going up in the air, “Of course, that's your plan Stefan! We've tried that remember. She doesn't care about us, we're not her sons, we're not her family, those creepy witch-vampire hybrid _things_ have that dubious honour, and she will do literally anything, _anything_ for them, which is what worries me.”

 

Stefan clenches his jaw with the words, Caroline's hand instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. She's not sure anyone notices, she's not sure either of them have either.

 

She looks away, her gaze falling to the ground with a sigh.

 

“Bonnie?”

 

Glancing back up, her eyes meet Damon's. There's a question in them, and it's one she's getting used to. Especially from him. It's a silent _you okay?_ And it's backed by genuine concern that still surprises her even after all this time and everything they've been through.

 

“I'll think of something,” she ends up saying, “In the mean time, see if you can get Enzo to dig a little more, until then the only thing we can do is sit tight and wait.”

 

She can see the snarky, bordering mean, comment lying in wait on his tongue, but she keeps her gaze firmly on his, the little quirk of her brow a challenge, almost daring him. He doesn't bite, thinks better of it and spins on the spot, foregoes the glass and goes straight for the bottle of bourbon instead.

 

Stefan stands up and leaves.

 

Caroline follows.

 

 

\-----

 

 

She feels frustrated.

 

Everything at the moment feels so up in the air; there's a real uncertainty lingering around them, putting everyone on edge. It seems silly since Lily and her heretic friends have yet to make a move, make their intentions clear, but the threat feels real all the same.

 

There was a reason the Gemini Coven had gone to such lengths to lock them up in an elaborately constructed prison world after all.

 

She hates her.

 

Lily Salvatore.

 

And yes, maybe some of it has to do with Kai and this whole mess, but really it has everything to do with _him_.

 

She watches as he gets up and leaves.

 

Shares a glance with Bonnie, before getting up herself and following him up to his bedroom. She stops at the doorway, stands there and watches as he just comes to a halt in the middle. He doesn't turn around, stares at nothing but the wall, arms folded across his chest.

 

“Stefan . . .” she says softly. She's not sure what to say. They hadn't really had a chance to broach the subject of his mother. She'd tried to bring it up once before, but he'd quite skilfully deflected the conversation, ended up talking about her instead and she'd only realised what he'd done once she'd hung up the phone.

 

She takes a hesitant step into the room, “Stefan, what Damon said, about your mother-”

 

“It's okay, Caroline,” he says, but he doesn't turn around and that makes it harder to believe the words.

 

Another step closer, and a deep breath in and out, “You don't have to pretend with me.”

 

And it's a ghost of another time, and yet the words have never rung more true.

 

He turns slightly, turns his head a fraction more to look back at her. There's the tiniest of smiles there on his lips, “I know.”

 

She takes what few steps are left and stops in front of him, hand coming out to rest on those he still has folded across his chest, and looks up at him, “So talk to me.”

 

He shakes his head, “I'm okay, really. My mother died in 1858 of consumption. I loved her. I mourned her. I moved on. Nothing's changed.”

 

“Stefan-”

 

He unfolds his arms, her hand dropping away but he doesn't let it go. Grabs hold of it again and threads his fingers through hers.

 

“She isn't my mother.”

 

Caroline looks up from their clasped hands and meets his gaze, “Still, I'm sorry.”

 

He looks at her, a curious expression there on his face, “Why?”

 

 _Because,_ she wants to say, _you deserve better. Because how could she not love you? How could anyone not love you?_

 

What she says instead is, “Because this sucks.”

 

He nods, smile still there, “Yeah. Yeah it does. But . . .”

 

“But?” she asks, looking back down at their hands.

 

“But I still have people who I care about and who care about me in my life, so I can't really complain.”

 

“That's very true,” she says with a nod, and squeezes his hand just that bit more tightly in her hand, telling him what doesn't need to be said.

 

That she is one of those people.

 

And maybe it's more than just _care._

 

It's love.

 

But she thinks they both know that already.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

For all their talk of going to Lily.

 

It's Lily that ends up coming to them.

 

There's a knock on the front door, and Damon thinks nothing of it. Why would he? He's on his phone, leaving yet another message for Alaric imploring him to leave the bottle alone, and just come and hang out, like old times, which when he thinks about it, really doesn't help much. They spent seventy five percent of their time together drinking, when you take that away there's only drunken, soul baring conversations shared between two friends and he can see why Alaric would want to give that a miss. He's not much in the mood for carving open his chest, and dissecting his heart on a platter either.

 

He ends the message with a “You know what, never mind. But seriously, stop drinking, you're turning yellow and it really doesn't suit you.”

 

Hanging up, phone still in one hand, he opens the door with the other, and tries not to look as surprised as he feels;

 

“Lily Salvatore,” he says standing a little straighter, immediately on edge, “Well this is unexpected.”

 

“Damon,” she says, hands clutched in front of her, voice soft, unassuming, _dangerous,_ “I was hoping you and I could talk?”

 

He's curious. It's in his nature and can't be helped.

 

And so he nods, opens the door wider and ushers her inside.

 

“Where's your brother?” she asks stepping into the living room.

 

“None of your concern.”

 

“Yes, well, I suppose I deserve that.”

 

He doesn't bother with the niceties, standing there, doesn't offer her a seat or a drink, just gets straight to the point, “What do you want?”

 

She smiles, and its cold and unsettling, “Now, I'm sure I didn't raise you to be quite so impolite.”

 

“You didn't raise me,” he snaps back.

 

The smile doesn't drop, “Well now you're re-writing history my dear.”

 

“Maybe because it's not a history worth remembering.”

 

She lets out a sigh, “I didn't come to argue with you Damon.”

 

“No, I know, you still haven't got to answering that part of my question yet.”

 

Lily takes a breath, faces him fully and explains, “I am hoping we could be of mutual help to one another.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, eyebrows raised, taking a casual step closer, “And what kind of help could I possibly need from you?”

 

“Well not just you. Stefan, his pretty blonde girlfriend too, what's her name? Caroline? Oh and I should add that it would be to the benefit of all the humans in this lovely little home town of ours. I mean the alternative would be bloodshed and destruction, and you and your friends trapped in it's ruins and running out of a food source, so . . .”

 

She's vague with the details, but he gets the threat loud and clear.

 

He takes another step, she doesn't move, “So you would help us by not turning Mystic Falls into a twisted version of your 1903 prison world, if we do what exactly in return?”

 

He asks the question, but there's unease flowing through every vein and it burns, and he really doesn't want to know the answer. Didn't want to ask, but knows he's exactly where she wants him, and he has no choice but to follow through.

 

When she finally answers him with a grin, as if it's the simplest thing in the world, he wishes he'd learn to trust his instincts better.

 

“Why,” she smiles, taking the last step between them, “Give me Bonnie Bennett, of course.”

 

He swallows, tries not to give himself away, “And what do you want with our little witch?”

 

“Now Damon, that would be telling, and I've already told you too much.”

 

He grins, it's a little manic, and he thinks he sees a sliver of fear flit through a set of blue eyes that could easily be his, but she hides it away well, “On the contrary, mother, you've told me nothing at all. Least of all why I'd give up Bonnie.”

 

“Now here I thought you were the smart one, Damon. Lesser of two evils. Either way I'll get what I want, but there's only one where you and your brother come out of it alive. So, Bonnie Bennett, where is she?”

 

“And if I tell you, you'll leave the rest of the town alone?”

 

“I'm not one to break my promises Damon.”

 

He turns up his lips and nods, “Yeah . . . no. Not gonna happen.”

 

It's the barest fraction of a second and he's blurring forwards and with a twist and crack, Lily Salvatore is lying unconscious on their living room floor, neck well and truly snapped.

 

He takes a step back, retrieves his phone from his back pocket and dials without looking.

 

_Hey this is Bonnie. I can't get to the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can!_

 

“Bonnie, call me as soon as you get this. It's important.”

 

He dials another number, and this time he gets an answer.

 

“Stefan, hey. I'm gonna need you to stop whatever you and Blondie are up to, and I know, I know, I keep spoiling your precious _just friends_ time, but I need your help. And you should know, it's not my fault, well _not entirely_ ,” and because he can't help himself, “But we may or may not have a mother of a situation on our hands . . .”

 

 

 

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you get dressed in the dark?” he asks looking back up at her, eyes alight, smile turning the corners of his mouth. “Something like that.”

 

**(vi)**

 

It all feels a little familiar.

 

Lily Salvatore knocked out cold, held prisoner in the cell under the boarding house.

 

They've been here before.

 

Except, this time, it's different.

 

There's a real threat of retaliation looming and a sense of dread seeping into every dark corner of the house. Keeping Lily Salvatore locked away in a cage is only delaying the inevitable, and she's only too happy to remind them with an eerily calm voice and a serene smile plastered on her lips with every opportunity she gets.

 

“Me? She wants _me_? What for?”

 

“Well ain't that the million dollar question Bon-Bon.”

 

She widens her eyes and asks, because she wouldn't put it past him to not have, “Well, have you _asked_ her?”

 

“No, because I spent hours down there chatting about the weather and whining to my mother about how my life sucks and my best friend thinks I'm an idiot!” He rolls his eyes, “Of course I asked her!”

 

She stares back at him, “Threatening to karate chop her head off isn't the same as asking.”

 

“Yeah, well that's why I sent down good cop.”

 

She falls back into the armchair and looks up at him pacing the living room, “Yeah? And how did that go?”

 

“Funny thing that. Stefan is surprisingly terrible at being good cop these days. Although that might have something to do with Lily bringing up Blondie and threatening to put a stake through her heart.”

 

Bonnie shakes her head, “Don't take this the wrong way Damon, but your mom? She's kinda a bitch.”

 

His face is entirely too grim and serious when he finally replies a long moment later, “Tell me about it.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Caroline finds him in his room.

 

She's only a little surprised at the curt message she finds left on her voicemail. Damon doesn't say much, just something along the lines of, “Get over here. Now.”

 

Of course, she thinks something huge has just gone down and her immediate thought is of Stefan, and the blind panic doesn't settle until she's vampire speeding herself over to the Salvatore mansion, and stumbles in through the front door, only to find Damon standing there, smirk on his face; “Relax, he's fine. He's upstairs. But he could do with seeing your face right about now.”

 

Her hair is still wet from her shower, blouse barely buttoned up right, heart racing a mile a minute and all she really wants to do is throttle him for scaring her so bad, but then, there's this other part of her. This other part that is stunned that Damon had even thought to call her in the first place, and she thinks it's progress, _thinks it's Bonnie_ , but of course, she isn't going to tell him that.

 

So instead she glares at him, shoves her way past and up the stairs, and makes a point of ignoring the “You're welcome!” he throws at her back.

 

He's standing there in front of his wardrobe when she gets there, hands working down his shirt, undoing the buttons as they go. She almost turns around and leaves, embarrassment flushing her cheeks, which is ridiculous she knows, because she's seen him shirtless before and this is nothing like _that._ This is completely innocent, but her mind apparently has no filter and she's flashing back to a moment in time as her eyes skim down the muscles of his bare back. Her wayward thoughts are halted though in their tracks when he drops his shirt on the floor, and the light through the curtains catches the stain, glistening red in the sun. There's no mistaking it. It's blood.

 

And so she's stepping over the threshold before she knows it, “Stefan? What happened? Are you okay?” There's an undeniable hint of fear to her words, and if her voice hadn't betrayed her, her eyes would have.

 

Stefan spins on the spot, gaze colliding with hers instantly.

 

He seems not to notice his state of undress as he steps forward towards her, hands outstretched as they reach for her in an attempt to placate. “Caroline,” he breathes out, “It's fine. I'm fine.”

 

His hands, however, don't reach their intended destination, as he suddenly stops still and remembers.

 

She follows his quick glance down to his hands and watches as he retracts them. But he's not fast enough and she grabs hold of his arm before he can hide it away.

 

His right hand is covered in blood. Drying and sticking as she turns it over in hers before her eyes rake over the skin of his torso for any signs of injury.

 

Which, yes, she knows is stupid. He would have healed by now, but she's running purely on instinct.

 

A human instinct that still remains and hasn't been chased away by death.

 

And she's thankful for it.

 

“It's okay, it's not my blood,” he says, reading her mind.

 

She looks up at him, searches his face for an explanation but he doesn't give her any more than that. Instead, he's stepping around her, pulling his arm from her grasp as he goes and disappearing into the bathroom.

 

And _oh no_ she thinks, frustration building, _you are not running away from this._ And so she follows, traps her foot between the door and the frame as he shuts it and slips in behind him.

 

She closes the door herself and leans back against it, watches as he ignores her and sets about washing his hands clean in the sink.

 

“So . . . are you gonna explain? Or am I gonna have to guess?”

 

She can see the tension coiled in every muscle; his jaw is clenched, eyes narrowed and focussed solely on trying to wash away all remaining evidence of whatever had just happened to get him worked up to such a state.

 

“Stefan?” she asks again, voice softer now, more patient.

 

“It's Lily's,” he finally says, “The blood. It's Lily's.”

 

Her eyes widen, and her mouth rounds with a surprised, “Oh.”

 

He says nothing else, and she knows him.

 

Knows he's torturing himself over whatever it is that had happened, be it his fault or not.

 

And she's not here to watch him stew in his own guilt.

 

Whatever he did to Lily, she's positive she deserved it.

 

And she tells him as much.

 

“Hey,” she says, stepping forward, one hand coming to rest on his bare shoulder, “Whatever you did, I'm sure she-”

 

“She threatened to kill you.”

 

The rest of her sentence stutters to a stop as she blinks up at him, “What?”

 

He sighs, turns the tap off and rests his hands on the edge of the sink, before spilling the whole story, “Lily came around here earlier today, looking for Bonnie. Damon obviously wouldn't tell her where she was, and Lily wouldn't tell him why she needed her and so my brother decided the best way to handle this would be to snap our mother's neck and throw her in the cell downstairs until she talks. He tried his way, and it turns out my way,” he waves his previously bloodstained right hand, “isn't all that different from his.”

 

Caroline shakes her head, her brain playing catch up, “Bonnie? What does she want with Bonnie?”

 

Stefan turns to face her, “That's what we've been trying to find out.”

 

“You think it has something to do with her plan with the heretics?”

 

Stefan nods, “I'd bet on it.”

 

She takes a moment to process before remembering just what exactly had got him into this state in the first place, “And me? What does she want with me?”

 

He turns around, rests back against the bathroom counter, and looks down at her.

 

His look says it all. She knows what, and he knows that she does.

 

Still, part of her wants him to say it.

 

“Nothing. She just wanted to get under my skin.”

 

She looks away, feels his gaze on her. And here they are again, dancing around their feelings because she's still not ready.

 

Although, sometimes, she can't for the life of her remember just what exactly it is she's waiting for.

 

She reaches out, runs a finger feathery light over the back of his hand, circling a small splatter of blood he's missed, “And I see she succeeded.”

 

There's a wry smile on his face as he answers her, “Yeah, well, she's not likely to try it again.”

 

She finds herself smiling in return, but still she doesn't look up. Her fingers continue to trace circles into his skin before she swipes her thumb over the bloodstain and wipes it away.

 

“Caroline . . .” he says, voice low, breath warm as it flutters through her drying curls.

 

“Hmm?”

 

He stops her fingers in their tracks, capturing them between his own as he rubs the pad of his own thumb over her skin in turn.

 

There's a question hanging there, waiting to be asked.

 

_What are we doing?_

And the truth is, she has no idea.

 

The air between them feels heavy, and she doesn't know how she's ended up so close to him, knows just the slightest tilt of her head upwards and she'll find herself face to face and her months of resolve will blow away like dust in the wind.

 

She clears her throat, “You should really go put a shirt on.”

 

He laughs and she feels it rumble through her to the tips of her toes, and she finds herself stuck in place.

 

“You can talk,” he says.

 

And for a moment, she's confused, enough to chance a glance up at him, but he's no longer looking at her face. She feels it first, his fingers toying with the front of her blouse, skimming the surface of skin on show where she missed a button in her haste to get here.

 

“Did you get dressed in the dark?” he asks looking back up at her, eyes alight, smile turning the corners of his mouth.

 

“Something like that.”

 

His eyes fall to her lips, and her stomach swoops.

 

God, she wants this.

 

But she _can't._

And she hates that she can't, not when she doesn't even know why any more.

 

And yet sense doesn't prevail and she finds herself stepping back, pulling her hand from his, and _he lets her._

 

To his credit, he hides his disappointment well enough. But still she notices how his eyes dim a little, sad yet patient and understanding and she wonders how she ever got so lucky.

 

She swallows, “I should go.”

 

He gives her the tiniest of nods, presses his lips together in a soft smile, “I know.”

 

“Let you finish getting cleaned up,” she continues needlessly.

 

The smile gets a little wider, “Mmhmm.”

 

She steps back and collides with the closed door, “Okay then.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She reaches behind her and twists the door knob in her hand and opens it. One foot outside the door, she turns to leave and promptly stops, hesitation rippling through her.

 

She can feel his eyes on her back, can almost sense the smile morph to confusion and see the furrow in his brow.

 

Twisting back around, she wants to laughs at the accuracy.

 

_Caroline?_ She hears the question, but in reality his lips haven't moved at all.

She doesn't think about it too hard. Doesn't try to explain it away or justify it. It's an impulse and it feels right.

And so she just does it.

Steps forward, and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth.

It barely lasts a few seconds before she's pulling back. She smiles at the frozen look on his face, watches as his own teeters a fine line between pleasant surprise and disbelief and matches hers perfectly.

She clears her throat, wills her flaming cheeks to cool down, laments the fact she still hasn't got that damned blushing under control.

 

“I'll see you downstairs,” she somehow manages to say.

He nods, “Yep.”

She nods in turn, spins back around, and this time, she really does leave.

What she'd meant to say is _thank you_.

She thinks he got the message anyway.

 

 

 

**TBC**

 

\-----

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiles a little wider, “a) I didn't technically plan that rave and b) let's never talk about that hairdo ever again.” The corner of his mouth twitches but he lets it go, “Done.”

 

**(vii)**

 

 

 

The frown and faraway look on his face is enough to give cause for concern.

 

Phone in one hand, cue in the other, he stands there unmoving.

 

She props up her own, leans forward, her weight resting on the straight grained, hard rock maple wood.

 

“Is this you surrendering, or are you actually gonna give me the satisfaction of finishing you off?”

 

He doesn't seem to hear her.

 

“Damon? Damon!”

 

“Huh, what?” he spins on the spot, and he still hasn't hidden away the expression on his face and that really is enough to make her worry.

 

She tilts her head, “You okay?”

 

Damon slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans and drops the cue stick onto the table.

 

She watches as the balls scatter around it, bounce off the sides, in effect ending their little match.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

And it's a mark of just how much has changed between them that he actually answers her without any preamble, “That was Alaric. Well not Alaric, since he's currently knocked unconscious at Whitmore Medical, but yeah, that was _about_ Alaric.”

 

Bonnie drops her own cue stick to join his on the table, steps forward toward him, eyes searching, “Well, is he gonna be okay?”

 

He doesn't answer her and his silence says it all.

 

“I'm gonna go over there.”

 

“Do you want me-”

 

“No,” he interrupts, hand outstretched, “I'll handle it.”

 

She's learned not to take offence at his refusal for help, knows it's a Salvatore trait.

 

He moves away to the living area, grabs his leather jacket hanging over the armrest on the sofa and heads for the door. She watches as he stops just in front of it, turns his head back towards her and calls out, “Hey Bon-Bon?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don't go getting any ideas about creeping down to the cellar to meet Mommy dearest while I'm out, okay?”

 

She rolls her eyes, sighs.

 

“Bonnie . . .” he drags out that last syllable, the message loud and clear.

 

“Okay, fine,” she relents, before a sudden thought crosses her mind and all she feels now is irritation and offence, “Hang on, wait a minute, is this why you've been following me around like a lost puppy these last few days? You think I'm gonna go down there and what? Face off with her?”

 

He smirks, opens the door and leaves with a wave, but not before calling out behind him, “See you later Little Witch.”

 

She mutters, “Asshole,” loud enough for him to hear; knows the smirk he's wearing probably just inflated to take up his entire stupid face.

 

_As if she'd been planning to confront Lily?_

_She's not a complete idiot._

_She's not going in there without a plan._

\-----

He's not sure what possessed him to turn up at her house like this. Impromptu, uninvited and unexpected.

 

Doubts he has are erased the second she opens the front door with a smile on her face.

 

And it isn't any old smile either.

 

It takes his breath away, and not because it's beautiful and lights up her face, which it is, but that isn't what does it.

 

No.

 

It's a smile he's seen a hundred times before.

 

Before Damon and Bonnie had been lost, trapped in a prison world for months (only they hadn't known that at the time). Before he'd completely fallen apart and run away from it all. Before he'd realised that part of the reason he'd run in the first place were feelings for this very same woman that he'd been too afraid to put a name to. Before he'd realised that running was the equivalent of sabotage, subconsciously done or not. And of course by the time he had realised, that same smile was lost. That same smile that had always been so open and honest, carefree and shamelessly affectionate had turned guarded, restrained, just _not quite the same._

“Hey,” she says, smile still in place, even brighter if that were possible, and he silently marvels at seeing it again after all this time.

 

He's ready with his own “Hey,” but she doesn't really give him much of a chance to respond as she grabs at his hand and literally pulls him inside.

 

He laughs, confused, “What's going on?”

 

“I have to show you something,” she explains, head twisting over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs.

 

His confusion only deepens when he gets to the landing.

 

It's covered in old boxes and decades of dust, the loft door open above, ladder hanging there half way down.

 

He raises his brows at her, and she shrugs in response to his unvoiced question.

 

“You know, I didn't get rid of absolutely everything when I switched off my humanity. Plus, I never really had time for a complete purge.”

 

He nods, “Hmm, no, I guess you had better things to do, like buy a whole new wardrobe, and” he reaches out and pulls on one of her curls, “Get a new hairdo, plan a rave.”

 

She smiles a little wider, “a) I didn't technically plan that rave and b) let's never talk about that hairdo _ever again.”_

The corner of his mouth twitches but he lets it go, “Done.”

 

“Good.”

 

It's a sign of just how far they've come now that they can bring up those memories and not be instantly crippled by guilt and embarrassment.

 

Hope sits a lot more comfortably in his gut, and for once he doesn't shy away.

 

“So, what did you want to show me?”

 

She claps her hands together, and bounces on her feet, “Wait there.”

 

She turns away, bends at her waist as she opens up one of the cardboard boxes and pulls out a thick wad of what looks like old, fading Polaroids. Sifting through them, she stops only when she reaches whatever photograph she'd been searching for, turns around and holds it up for him to see.

 

His eyebrows lift, and he looks away from the photo to stare back at her, “Is that . . ?”

 

“Yep, an old picture of Damon and my mom and a few other old townsfolk circa nineteen ninety something.”

 

He takes the photo from her hand to look a bit harder, “Must have been a party or something, Damon probably compelled her to forget they'd even met.”

 

“That sounds about right. But it's kinda cool, right?”

 

He smiles back at her, watches as she takes the photo back, her finger running over the smiling face of a younger Liz Forbes and an array of emotions flit across her own.

 

He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jeans, “You okay?”

 

She sifts through the pile in her hand, each photo reflecting a smiling Liz or Bill Forbes, and the occasional photo of a young Caroline. She looks up at him, breathes out with a watery smile, “Yeah.”

 

And he believes her.

 

And it's enough for him.

 

He steps forward, takes the top photo from her hand and grins, “Baby Caroline. Well weren't you a cutie.”

 

She laughs, “Hey! I'm not sure we're at the sharing baby photos stage of this relationship.”

 

There's a strange flip-flopping sensation in the pit of his stomach at the word. He pulls back his arm, photo just out of her reach, and he decides to just say it before he changes his mind.

 

“So what stage are we at exactly?”

 

She freezes, and the regret is instant.

 

He opens his mouth to back pedal but the expression on Caroline's face morphs into something suddenly more dangerous, making him wary all at once. At first, he has trouble reading it, but then she's holding his gaze with bright, impossibly clear eyes as she steps toward him and closes the small gap. She rests the flat of her hand against his chest, slides her free hand along the length of his, the skin of her fingers on his where he still has the photo clutched in his grasp.

 

He thinks his heart may just be beating out of his ribcage and she can feel every quickened thump behind the pads of her fingers.

 

She looks up at him from under her eyelashes, and the smile on her lips takes his breath away for the second time that day.

 

Because there's no mistaking it.

 

Though she opens her mouth, and answers with a teasing lilt, “The stage where you help me tidy all of this away.”

 

And though he mock groans in response and lets her swipe the photo from his fingers with ease and relents with a put upon, “Fine.”

 

What she really says with that open and honest, carefree and shamelessly affectionate smile, as he pulls on the ladder and she watches him work, is this:

 

_I'm ready._

\-----

He collapses into the chair beside him, doesn't bother to turn and watch the doctor leave.

 

He hadn't been listening to much of what he'd said anyway.

 

Some random good Samaritan had found him literally lying in a ditch, knocked out cold from the heavy boozing and bleeding gash on the back of his head, and called for an ambulance. And if that hadn't been enough brownie points earned, they'd even waited there with him until the paramedics had arrived.

 

There's a bubble of emotion clogging up his throat, though he wouldn't ever dare name it.

 

It's something along the lines of gratitude and despair, and unsurprisingly the two don't mesh and it feels a lot more like indigestion than actual chest pain.

 

Because it's not his heart.

 

It's not.

 

He rubs a hand across his face, mutters a “Damn it Ric,” into his own skin.

 

“Damon?” The voice is cracked and groggy and doesn't sound much like him at all. He's disoriented and confused, blinking his bleary eyes open. The minimal lighting in the room is still much too much for his brain and lowered threshold for pain to take. He squints up at him as he asks yet again, “Damon?”

 

He sighs, “Yeah buddy. It's me.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“You tell me,” his voice is gruff, the accusation clear.

 

Alaric twists his head back to look at the ceiling, grimaces with pain, and by his silence, Damon figures it's all coming back to him. In bits and pieces.

 

“Shit.”

 

“No kidding.”

 

“Damon . . .”

 

“No,” he says, the fake tone of calmness, exactly that. Fake. “You know what, Ric? I'm tired of running after your drunk ass, trying to stop you from permanently offing yourself. If you want to die so bad, why don't you just say it! I'll snap your neck and then we'll both be done with it!”

 

He finds himself towering over his best friend, chest heaving as he tries to rein in his temper. But it's not all anger. No, it's utter despair and the frustration of being lost. Of not having a clue as to what the hell he's supposed to do. How the hell he's supposed to fix this. Fix him.

 

When Alaric looks back up at him with cold, dead eyes and simply whispers without blinking, “Do it,” the dam breaks entirely.

 

It's blind rage that has him launching himself at him, hands around his neck, tight grip and squeezing.

 

And Alaric lets him.

 

Doesn't struggle. Doesn't fight it. Just closes his eyes and waits.

 

And just like that he snaps out of it. Pulls away and stares back at the shell of his friend.

 

His eyes feel suspiciously wet, but he doesn't give him the satisfaction of swiping the tears away.

 

“Do it yourself,” he spits out, “And save a place for me in hell.”

 

He walks away.

 

Feels his eyes on his back as he goes, but doesn't dare turn around.

 

Just keeps on walking.

 

It's defeat.

 

But hey, who's counting?

 

 

\-----

 

 

When she'd said she'd had a plan? Well, she may have _thought_ she had one.

 

It's not her fault the whole thing blew apart the minute she stepped down there and Lily opened her mouth.

 

The Salvatore matriarch senses her the minute she opens the door to the cellar. Starved of blood, she imagines her salivary glands are working overtime right about now.

 

She's not wrong when she peers in through the bars and sees her sitting there, back against the wall, blue eyes remarkably clear as she stares her down.

 

That really should have been her first clue.

 

This many days in on her cold turkey detox, she should have been hallucinating by now, with all hopes of holding lucid conversation decimated.

 

But no, she smiles and asks perfectly polite, “Miss Bennett, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

 

Bonnie shakes her head with a humourless twist of her lips, “See, that's not gonna work on me. So why don't we just cut through the crap, and you get to the point where you tell me exactly what it is you're planning?”

 

Lily stands up, edges closer to the door but Bonnie stands her ground, doesn't move a muscle.

 

“You have it all wrong, my dear. I only want what's best for my family. I only want us to be left in peace so that we can get on with our lives. We don't need to be enemies. In fact, you and I, Miss Bennett, we're on the same side.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that.”

 

“It would be so much easier if you just came willingly.”

 

“Not gonna happen.”

 

The older woman drops her head at that, before looking back up and the expression on her face is like a sliver of ice creeping down her spine.

 

“Pity,” is all she says.

 

And then she feels it.

 

Cold hands wrapping around her neck, squeezing the life out of her and sucking away at her magic at the same time. She feels the panic claw up her throat, but she's fighting thin air, an invisible ghost, and losing the battle.

 

There's a sudden sting of the cold sharp edge of a blade across her wrist, and she can't make sense of it.

 

The words to ask are lost in a silent scream.

 

All she sees is Lily's smiling face.

 

And then it fades to black.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He says her name again, softer, quieter as he takes a step closer and watches her own breath hitch. And he can't help but marvel that it's him that does that to her.

 

**(viii)**

 

 

It's just another reason she loves him.

 

She doesn't have to say a word.

 

He reads her perfectly.

 

It's all over his face and she knows it's all over hers.

 

 

\-----

 

 

He feels her fingers brush his as she hands him the last of the boxes.

 

It's deliberate and precise in it's intent.

 

She'd been so careful all this time, and now here she is.

 

Fingers lingering, gaze firmly on him, waiting.

 

He easily takes the heaving box from her grasp as if it weighs nothing at all, pushes it into the attic space and then climbs down the ladder.

 

He stops at the bottom, takes a moment before turning to meet her gaze head on.

 

She smiles.

 

It's that smile where her teeth catch on her bottom lip, and he can't help but stare.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“You're welcome.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

His eyes flicker to her mouth and the butterflies in her stomach erupt, and suddenly she's a bundle of nervous energy and she feels like her old human seventeen year old self again.

 

Eager and so sure of her feelings for this very same man.

 

Funny, how that's happened.

 

But this time, _this time_ , there's no self-doubt, there's no fear, certainly not of rejection.

 

Because she knows, knows he's feeling it too, and finally they're on the same page.

 

It's only taken years for him to catch up.

 

_Not long at all._

 

She reaches her hand forward, swipes her thumb across his cheek and watches the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows.

 

“You have dirt on your cheek,” she says.

 

His lips twitch in recognition.

 

She drops her hand but he catches it before she can pull it away and her breath literally lodges in her throat at the touch.

 

“Caroline,” is all he says.

 

 

\-----

 

 

He doesn't really think, breathes out her name as if she's taken up all the air around him, the very oxygen that fills up his lungs and runs through his bloodstream.

 

He doesn't even notice it.

 

Thinks it's been this way for so long now he can't pinpoint when it happened.

 

He says her name again, softer, quieter as he takes a step closer and watches her own breath hitch.

 

And he can't help but marvel that it's _him_ that does that to her.

 

He hasn't let go of her hand, and she hasn't pulled away.

 

It's enough courage to fuel him, but he doesn't take that last step.

 

No.

 

Because this?

 

This is in her hands.

 

It's a promise of patience, and one he intends to keep.

 

 

\-----

 

 

She sees the question in his eyes, and she answers it with one last step forward, a palm resting against the thump of his heart, and fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.

 

His name falls from her lips in turn and she wonders if she imagines it, a missed beat and a clench of fingers he forces to stay at his side.

 

She tilts her head back and finally looks up at him.

 

There's still a smidgeon of uncertainty, three words still lingering.

 

_Are you sure?_

She thought she'd answered him already.

 

_Well then_ , she thinks.

 

And spells it out with her lips against his.

 

 

\-----

 

 

She kisses him.

 

Lips pressed to his as her one hand curls into the fabric of his shirt and there's just the faintest scratch of nail. Her other hand is still in his, and he only lets go long enough to curve it around her waist and pull her in closer.

 

He can feel her smiling against him, and when she pulls away to rest her forehead against his, he just knows she must be grinning as wide as him.

 

He opens his eyes to find her staring back at him, grin firmly etched and perfectly mirrored.

 

“Hey,” she breathes against him.

 

He laughs, “Hey.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

His laugh rumbles through her and it feels like liquid heat melting her insides as it trickles down and settles in her belly.

 

Maybe it's a little fast and maybe she's an idiot.

 

Because they are the definition of a slow burn, and she thinks the time for waiting is done and maybe things aren't moving fast enough.

 

And so she grabs hold of both his hands and pulls, walks backwards towards her bedroom and tugs him along.

 

His eyes don't leave hers and he offers up no resistance, simply kicks the door shut behind him once he crosses the threshold.

 

She breathes.

 

_One, two, thr-_

 

Both hands cup her face, and he kisses her hard, capturing her gasp between the parting of his lips and the clash of teeth.

 

Her own hands wander, purposeless in their new freedom, because she wants to feel _everything_ and she wants to feel it now, all at once.

 

She pulls on his shirt, hands clumsy as she unbuttons them haphazardly and his lips trail along her cheek and down her neck, nipping and licking and laughing at her frustrated, “God! What's with all the buttons?”

 

Still, he doesn't stop to help, his fingers on a mission of their own. One hand buried in her curls, the other finds the zip at the back of her dress easy enough and as it slips off her shoulders, he replaces the fabric with the silky softness of his lips, and her eyelids flutter close with a groan, “Not fair.”

 

“What's not fair?”

 

“Zip. Buttons. At least I made it easy for you.”

 

And he's laughing into her skin again, before pulling back and smothering her “Shut up” with his lips on hers.

 

“Caroline?”

 

“Mmhmm?”

 

“I love you.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

It's just a bubble of emotion that rises up and he can't help the words.

 

Her. This moment. Everything.

 

It's perfect.

 

And he can't help himself.

 

There's an agonising moment where she freezes and he wonders if it's too much too soon.

 

But she knows. Just as much as he knows she feels the same. And that's the beauty of it. Of them.

 

She leans back, head tilted up, teeth biting down on her thoroughly kissed lips and he doesn't think she's looked more beautiful than she does now as she whispers back those same three words.

 

He walks her backwards on to her bed and follows her down.

 

There are no more words after that.

 

It's all said in the dance of fingertips and the hum of gasps and sighs, and in the end when they lie there next to each other blissful and sated, she tells him, “Thank you for waiting.”

 

And instead of answering her with a “It was worth the wait” like he knows she's expecting, he hands over his heart completely with a single admission, “You know I would have waited forever for you if I had to, right?”

 

She swallows, “I know.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Damon is completely wasted by the time he walks through the Salvatore boarding house's front door.

 

He'd lost count of the bourbons five glasses in and had just taken to drinking straight from the bottle, because why the hell not?

 

He was drinking for his old buddy Alaric, may he rest in peace.

 

The asshole.

 

Since he wanted to die so bad, he should have just given him a syringe full of morphine and left him to it. But then, he thinks, it's almost the same as him offering to snap his neck and be done with it.

 

It's his face, though.

 

It swims in his alcohol addled brain and he can't wash it away no matter how many bottles he downs.

 

His stomach churns at the image of his friend's dead and hopelessly lost eyes and he wonders how that's even possible.

 

He's a vampire, so how the hell is he nauseous?

 

Doesn't make a lick of sense, and he doesn't really care as he takes another swig of his bourbon and stumbles into the living room.

 

“Bon-Bon, you home?” he bellows into the silence.

 

Nothing.

 

“Stefan?”

 

Again, nothing.

 

“Huh,” he says, dropping to the couch, “Alone. Fantastic.”

 

He kicks up his boots onto the coffee table, sits back and raises the bottle to his lips again.

 

He doesn't take a sip this time, though. No, it hovers there as he feels the familiar pangs of hunger surging through his veins and coming to life. He laughs into the silence, because surely he's drunk enough to obliterate _all_ his senses but no, somehow he's still freaking hungry.

 

“Oh well,” he mutters dropping the bottle onto the table, and standing up.

 

He ponders for a minute, _straight from the vein_ or _straight from a bag._

 

One's definitely more appealing than the other, but he knows he can't trust himself not to bleed people dry in his current state. He can just imagine Stefan's face and doesn't want to deal with more mess than he has to, and so resigns himself to snacking on their cold stock.

 

He heads for the basement, doesn't get more than two steps when he's struck by a distinctive, metallic smell permeating the stale air, making the veins under his skin itch.

 

It's blood.

 

And then he remembers, he's not alone. At all.

 

He takes another step, calls out a cautious, “Mother?”

 

No response.

 

He rounds the corner and the sight before him is enough to turn him sober instantly.

 

The cell door is ajar, and his gut tells him it's empty and she's long gone, but that isn't what has his undivided attention.

 

No, it's the drip of blood from a cut wrist and the pool spreading out around her.

 

“Bonnie? Bonnie!”

 

He doesn't think, rushes forward, biting into his own wrist as he falls to his knees beside her. The pulse in her neck is faint and thready, but it's enough as he lifts her head into his lap and forces her to drink.

 

The sight is all too familiar, and he realises he's getting sick of it.

 

She struggles against him as her eyes snap open, terrified, looking up at him.

 

“Hey,” he says, “You're okay. I've got you.”

 

She shakes her head, pulls away from his wrist, his blood staining her lips. “Lily,” she chokes out.

 

“I know, I know, we'll figure it out.”

 

She shakes her head again, “She took my blood, the heretics, they-”

 

“Shh,” he sounds, “Bonnie, we'll figure it out.”

 

And if that involves going on a murderous rampage, so be it.

 

He thinks he's overdue one anyway.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**TBC.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That one, right there,” Bonnie says, as she sits up on the couch, watching Damon pace the Salvatore living room like a crazed caged animal. “The one that says, 'I'm about to do something incredibly stupid and reckless.' That one.” “Reckless and stupid? Me? When have I ever been reckless and stupid?”

**(ix)**

 

Caroline wakes to streaming sunlight falling across her face, the warmth of it touching every exposed inch of skin. It's nothing, of course, to the heat seeping through the skin of the heavy arm draped across her waist and the leg wedged between hers.

 

There's a smile on her face, curving into the fullness of her pillow as her eyes slowly blink open.

 

He's facing her.

 

Hair mussed and silhouetted against the white of his own pillow, eyes closed and lips parted just a fraction, he's still fast asleep.

 

His face is a picture of serenity and one she hasn't seen before.

 

The flutter in her ribcage is the knowledge that it's _all her_.

 

She can't help herself, reaching out to trace a finger along his jawline and the beginnings of stubble growing there. Her fingers dance up his cheeks and she brushes her thumb across his lower lip, watching in fascination as it twitches under her touch and a smile pulls at the edges of his mouth.

 

So, not asleep at all then.

 

“Nice try Stefan.”

 

The smile widens but he doesn't open his eyes.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says, and the words come out gloriously rough and deep, still laced with sleep.

 

She grins, shifting closer as he moves his own hand to grab hold of hers as it lingers there on his face. He threads his fingers through hers, palm to palm and pulls it down to rest in what little space there is between them.

 

He opens his eyes then, finding hers instantly.

 

Crystal clear, sparkling green. She thinks she loves them best like this. First thing in the morning, sunlight reflecting off them, smiling only at her.

 

“Good morning.”

 

He replies in kind, choosing to whisper them against her lips, and she doesn't mind in the least.

 

“Sooo . . .” she says, drawing out the word.

 

“So,” he laughs back, and her toes curl in on themselves at the sound.

 

“Are we going to talk about this?”

 

He furrows his brow, smile dropping off his lips, completely serious, “Talk about what?”

 

She shakes her head, nudges his leg with one of her feet, “Shut up.”

 

He grins, and lifts his other hand to curl her hair back and play with the ends, “I really don't think there's anything to talk about. But if that's what you want to do,” he lets out a suffering sigh, “then that's what we'll do Caroline, because I love you, although I do think there are much better uses of our time . . .”

 

She raises a brow, decides not to pick apart the casual way he just dropped the L-word, again, and instead allows him to pull her down the very obvious path he's paving.

 

“Oh yeah,” she breathes out, the tip of her nose brushing past his as she shuffles closer, “And what are they?”

 

He closes the distance between them in answer, catching her lower lip in his, hands reaching up to cup her face and tangle in her hair.

 

She thinks he has the right idea. As always.

 

But of course, nothing could ever be quite so perfect and she doesn't get to enjoy the trail of kisses down her neck as his phone decides to go off just then.

 

“Ignore it,” he groans into her skin.

 

And she does. Well, tries to.

 

But the moment of reprieve where it stops ringing is far too short and it starts up again not two seconds later.

 

Frustrated, she pulls away, “Could be important.”

 

“Doubt it.”

 

“Stefan . . .”

 

“Fine,” he grumps and she bites her lip to stop the laugh, watches as he rolls out of bed and grabs his phone on the dresser. She's only half paying attention, her eyes instead shamelessly following every line of muscle on his exposed torso. It's only when his tone changes from impatient to deadly serious, she lifts her eyes to his and knows their plans for a lazy morning in bed are going to have to be put on the back burner.

 

When he finally ends the call and looks down at her, she sighs, “Let me guess . . . Lily?”

 

He purses his lips and throws his phone back onto the dresser, “Yep.”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

“Uh oh, I do not like that look in your eyes.”

 

“What look?”

 

“That one, right there,” Bonnie says, as she sits up on the couch, watching Damon pace the Salvatore living room like a crazed caged animal. “The one that says, 'I'm about to do something incredibly stupid and reckless.' That one.”

 

“Reckless and stupid? Me? When have I ever been reckless and stupid?”

 

She rolls her eyes, “Damon . . .”

 

“No,” he says, stopping still and staring down at her with wild eyes, “Lily needs to know she can't get away with this. That just because she's our mother, that she somehow has the upper hand, that we won't retaliate when she threatens us!”

 

She wants to point out that she only really ever threatened _her_ , but she realises it's a moot point, and knows Damon will just argue that threatening one of them is as good as threatening the entire gang. Its just another confirmation of how their relationship has changed, and although she doesn't need the proof to know Damon actually _cares_ , it's nice to have it regardless.

 

“It's too late anyway.”

 

“What do you mean it's too late?”

 

Her shoulders droop and she lets out a heavy sigh.

 

She'd had her suspicions. Ever since Damon had let it slip that Lily was after her, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about all the possible reasons she was on the older vampire's wanted list.

 

But then she'd had her wrist slit open and her blood drained and stolen and now her suspicions were no longer just that.

 

Blood. 

 

And not just any old blood.

 

Bennett blood.

 

“She never wanted to kill me. Sure she could have, but no, she just needed my blood. And now she's got what she wanted, I think we're all in trouble. And when I say _all_ , I mean everyone in Mystic Falls. Human, vampire alike.”

 

“I don't speak witchy-woo Bon-Bon, you're gonna have to be a little less cryptic!”

 

“I think,” she says, standing up, “The heretics are using my blood to create another prison world of sorts, here and now, in Mystics Falls.”

 

The confusion on Damon's face is clear as day as he frowns in irritation and narrows his eyes at her, “What are you talking about?”

 

She opens her mouth to explain, but there's a hurried knock on the front door, which sounds rather more like someone just barrelling through it. Damon's “What the-” is only completed at the sight of Enzo stumbling into the Salvatore boarding house, blood dripping down his chin and staining the front of his t-shirt and jacket, looking pale and sweaty and not well. At all. “-hell?”

 

“Your mother,” he manages to groan out, before collapsing onto the floor. The rest of the sentence is smothered by the sound of retching and the sight of Enzo's most recent human meal spilling back out of his mouth. He rolls onto his back once he's done, one arm flung across his heaving chest and stares up at Damon to finish his sentence, “is a psychotic bitch.”

 

Now there's something he hasn't heard before.

 

“I know,” he says again, eyes catching Bonnie's.

 

“What happened?”

 

“There I was, just minding my own business, feeding on one of our lovely townsfolk . . .” At Bonnie's glare, he qualifies his statement with a roll of his eyes, “because look hey, sometimes I want something a little warmer than a blood bag, okay? And no I didn't bleed her dry, I left her a pint or two.”

 

“Yeah, cos that makes it all okay then.”

 

At Damon's glare, she waves her hand in front of her, “Sorry, carry on.”

 

“Right,” Enzo continues, pulling himself to a sitting position, “Well it was fine, until about an hour later when I felt like death warmed over, and yes,” he looks at Bonnie again, “I know I'm already dead-”

 

“Just get to it,” Damon snaps through gritted teeth.

 

“I don't know why but I can't digest it. I tried. Others. It won't stay down.”

 

“Are you sure? I had a blood bag this morning, went down fine.”

 

“Yes I'm sure,” Enzo says, presenting the blood stains down his front as proof.

 

“You're quiet Bon-Bon.”

 

At Damon's sudden remark, she shakes herself out of her thoughts, an unease settling in her own stomach as the pieces slowly come together and the picture forms in her head. Lily's desire for her to be reunited with her family, to build a life, could never have been without an element of vengeance. And though those who had imprisoned her and prolonged her suffering for over a century were no longer alive to endure her wrath, she still had surplus enough to inflict it on an entire town.

 

“I think,” she says slowly, swallowing, “You're gonna have to ration what's left of your stock Damon.”

 

At his blank look, she explains, “She's staked her claim on Mystic Falls, I think that-”

 

“All the humans here are ours do as we please? Feed on, compel to do our bidding, kill should we wish to? Yes, I'd say that's about right. Smart girl.”

 

The intruder needs no introduction.

 

Standing there in the open doorway, flanked by her heretic family, Lily's expression is one she's never seen before and a chill runs through her.

 

Damon spins to face them, arms wide in mock welcome, “Mother and . . . _friends_ , do please come in.”

 

Of course, he means the complete opposite and no sooner has Lily taken one step forward, Damon's off doing that stupid and reckless thing she'd warned him against.

 

But Lily's faster, stronger somehow and she's got her hand on his forearm, twisting until there's just the crunch of bone and the grimace of pain on his face turns into a shout of agony he can no longer contain, and she's yelling at her to stop.

 

But the heretics haven't had their say yet either and once Lily releases him and he drops to the floor, they're using one of her own favourites, blowing and bursting aneurysm after aneurysm in his head. And not just him, Enzo's affected just as much, head clutched between his hands, bent over the floor.

 

“Stop it! STOP!”

 

Her bellow reverberates around the room and Lily's hand reaches out in a motion instructing them to do just that.

 

The house falls silent then, except for the two vampires collapsed on the floor struggling to catch their breaths. It's only disturbed then by the click of Lily's heels on the floor as she walks right in.

 

She beckons the others forward with an outstretched arm, and Bonnie can do nothing but watch as they pile in one by one, suitcases and boxes in hand. Something she thinks any one of them hadn't paid much attention to before now.

 

She walks into the centre of the living room, spins on the spot and says, “This will do perfectly.”

 

Damon's eyebrows hike up his forehead, “Excuse me?”

 

“We're moving in,” she explains as easy as that.

 

“Like hell you are!”

 

She tilts her head to the side, “I was going to give you some time to pack your things, but if you're going to be so rude, I think we might just keep them.”

 

“Yeah, no, somehow I don't think so.”

 

She smiles at him, calm and sweet and that just makes it all the more menacing. “Stefan,” she announces, “You always were such a sweet little boy, maybe you can make your brother see sense?”

 

Everyone's heads whip around to find Stefan finally joining the party; Caroline, naturally by his side, hand safely wrapped in his and Bonnie doesn't have time to process just what that means.

 

“Funny thing,” Stefan says, stepping over the threshold, “a hundred and fifty years, not a sweet little boy any more.”

 

There's the briefest flicker of a glance between the Salvatore brothers, easily missed, but she sees it. But even with four vampires and a witch in the room, they're still outnumbered and she thinks whatever move their concocting in their brains is a bad one.

 

She shares her own look with Caroline, and it's the slightest of nods that says _now._

 

It's a rush of motion as Damon, Enzo and Stefan vamp speed into attack mode, and although she does her best to distract with shattering glass and bursts of fire, Lily has the measure of them all.

 

“Now I thought you were smarter than that,” comes her cold voice in the chaos.

 

Stefan's standing not a few metres from her, one heretic trapped in the crook of his elbow, wooden stake, he must have been hiding, pressed against his chest. Bonnie watches the colour drain from his face, and she knows what she'll find on turning around.

 

_Caroline._

 

Trapped in Lily's grasp, with one hand wrapped tight around her neck, nails digging in so hard there are rivulets of blood dripping down her, she looks absolutely terrified.

 

She's one squeeze away from having her head ripped off.

 

“Devastation, Stefan. Remember?” is all Lily needs to say.

 

He lets go.

 

Lets the stake fall to the ground.

 

Enzo follows suit almost immediately, and though it takes Damon a minute longer than it should, he does too.

 

“So, we're all in agreement then? Yes?”

 

There's a murmur of general consensus, but that's not enough to satisfy.

 

She squeezes Caroline's neck a little harder and Bonnie can't bear it as she jumps forward and shouts, “Yes! Now let her go!”

 

Lily's eyes turn to her in expectation, and she relents without hesitation, softens the rest of her demand with a plea, “Let her go, please.”

 

She does.

 

Pushes Caroline off of her, and Stefan's right there to grab hold and wrap her in his arms.

 

Lily turns then, sits herself down on one of the sofas, legs together, slanted slightly to the side, blood stained hands clasped together and resting in her lap. Prim and proper.

 

“Wonderful,” she smiles softly up at the six heretics around the room, “Welcome to our new home!”

 

 

 

**TBC.**

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because,” she says again, in half a mind whether to finish the run of her thoughts, because yes, she realises now, it's hideously cheesy and embarrassing, but then again, who cares? “Because,” she says once more, lips brushing his, “She gave me you.”

**(x)**

 

The streets of Mystic Falls are deserted.

 

Most of the shops are long empty, boarded up and falling apart. The streets are littered with months of rubbish and the stench that fills the air tells the tale just as well. There are the odd bodies lying around, blood stains here and there, but no one bats an eyelid.

 

It's the norm.

 

This post-apocalyptic ghost of a town lives on in its own little bubble of terror.

 

No one can leave.

 

No one can enter.

 

And those lucky enough to have been compelled are none the wiser.

 

Caroline almost envies them.

 

Almost.

 

“Okay, well be careful, and get back home safe,” she says into the phone, the words slightly muffled by the fingers in her mouth. She's recently taken to chewing on her nails, a disgusting habit, she knows, but given the current stresses in her life, it's either that or trying and failing to set the Salvatore Boarding House alight again. Which, yes, didn't go so well the first time around, and something she tries not to rehash in her mind over and over.

 

It's a fool's errand, though.

 

Of course it is. With most of the humans left in Mystic Falls under compulsion and at Lily's beck and call, there's no way they can get away with planning something like that and come away on the winning side.

 

At the moment, the scoreboard reads a woeful: Lily 13, Good Guys 0.

 

“Was that Matt?”

 

“Hmm?” she asks, head lifting up at the question, still half a world away dreaming up a better revenge plan.

 

Stefan tilts his head in a nod to the phone in her hand.

 

“Oh! Oh yeah, Matt. He's still out patrolling.”

 

She drops the phone on the table and makes her way over to Stefan sitting on the couch. Folding her legs beneath her, she leans against his chest as his arm comes around her instinctively, pulling her in tight against him. His other hand rests on her knee, thumb running circles into her skin in an absent-minded gesture. He rests his chin on her head and she snuggles in closer, lets her eyelids flutter close and just breathes him in.

 

He centres her on nights like these.

 

When she feels the hopelessness of their situation most keenly, the frustration of still not having found their way out eating away at her.

 

Every supernatural disaster that had come their way before, they had always somehow beaten the odds and survived. This, though, this is something else entirely. With Lily always fives steps ahead of them, it's turned into a game where the odds are now never in their favour.

 

“Are you staying over tonight?” she asks, lips brushing over his forearm as he holds her in place.

 

“Do I have a choice?”

 

She hears the grin in his voice, and she shakes her head, “Nope.”

 

“Well, I guess I'm staying then.”

 

“Good.”

 

She falls silent then. Stefan's head drops onto hers and she wonders if the exhaustion has finally crept up on him and he's just fallen asleep right there on the couch. But then she feels it. A deep shuddering breath at her back, and she rises and falls with it. “Stefan?” Her voice comes out tentative and small, worry lacing each syllable.

 

He speaks after a moment, “I'm sorry.”

 

She frowns, twists around slightly in his arms to look back at him.

 

He has this faraway look on his face and as if the weight of the world and the guilt of all the wrongdoing rests on him.

 

“Sorry for what?” she asks softly.

 

“My mother.”

 

She elbows him then, and the frown on his face is just this side of adorable and she knows she has it bad, real bad.

 

“You're an idiot,” is all she says.

 

He shakes his head, a short laugh leaving his lips as he looks down at her, “But if I hadn't-”

 

“But nothing,” she says interrupting him, not liking where he's going with his line of thinking at all.

 

“But she's-”

 

“Yes she's a monster, and a total raging psycho, and yes she's your mother, none of which is your fault. And besides, despite all of that, and this is oh so very annoying to admit, I can't hate her completely because,” and she pauses then, raises her head to meet his, nose brushing his as one of her hands comes around to cup his cheek.

 

“Because?” he prompts.

 

“Because,” she says again, in half a mind whether to finish the run of her thoughts, because yes, she realises now, it's hideously cheesy and embarrassing, but then again, who cares? “Because,” she says once more, lips brushing his, “She gave me you.”

 

He smiles against her, and she knows that it's for moments like these that she's glad they're still here, still fighting.

 

And she'll keep fighting for as long as she has to to keep them.

 

“We'll get our home back,” he promises.

 

“I know we will,” is her answer.

 

 

\-----

 

 

There are a multitude of punch lines that could be wrangled together from this, he knows.

 

It's a little showy and over-dramatic, even for him.

 

But still, he likes it up here.

 

A dark, menacing black cloud of a presence over the town . . .

 

He laughs into the cold night air. Yeah, not quite.

 

Once upon a time, in a Mystic Falls long, long, _long_ ago, when he'd been a completely different person - vengeful and selfish and single-minded in his pursuit of a woman who'd never loved him in the first place - he'd been that darkness.

 

Now, the mantle falls to someone else.

 

His mother.

 

Which is pretty damn ridiculous, really, if he thinks about it too hard.

 

But, then again, he's not one for thinking.

 

Reckless and stupid, if he remembers right were Bonnie's exact words once.

 

He lets out a small breath then, white wisps blowing out in front of him, dissipating into the inky blue of the night sky.

 

Bonnie.

 

His best friend.

 

How the hell had that happened anyway?

 

Four months stuck in a prison world together is the answer of course, but he thinks he's an idiot that that's what it had taken for him to see Bonnie's brilliance and realise just how much he actually _enjoys_ her.

 

He feels a pang of something in his chest. Regret, possibly. He'd entertained many a dark thought regarding the witch on those days when the ache in his gut for Elena to be by his side would build to beyond his walls of rational thought.

 

He's an asshole to think he could have forsaken Bonnie for her.

 

“You know, whatever it is, I'm sure it's really not that bad . . .”

 

The voice startles him, and he hadn't realised just how close to the edge of the clock tower he'd gotten. His one foot slips on the edge, and there's a moment of panic that in hindsight is a little ridiculous, because well, _he's a vampire_ , so a however many foot drop was never going to kill him.

 

Still instinct has him rearing back, and the hand grasping the back of his leather jacket helps straighten him up.

 

“I mean it's not like you've had your wife and unborn twins murdered or anything,” he says a little too nonchalantly.

 

“Ric?” Damon asks, his face conveying all the shock he feels, “How the hell did you get up here?”

 

The man in question gives him a smile that gives nothing away, steps a little closer to the edge and peers down. Damon's breath lodges in his throat, fingers itching to pull him back. Alaric lets out a low whistle then, “That is a long way down.”

 

“Yeah,” he says and then he's breathing a huge sigh of relief as he steps back and leans up against the wall of the tower next to him.

 

“Relax,” Alaric says giving him a sideways glance, “I'm sober.”

 

Damon raises a brow, “And those suicidal urges?”

 

“Gone,” he answers with a nod, before adding a “Mostly” with a tilt of his head and a teasing smile.

 

It's a start, Damon thinks, not that it makes this conversation any safer atop a clock tower.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

 

“I've seen you come up here a few times, wanted to see what the fuss was all about for myself. It's not much of a view, is it?”

 

“I'll ignore the creepiness of the fact you've been _watching_ me for now, but yeah,” he breathes out, “Not much of Mystic Falls left is there?”

 

“So,” Alaric says after a long moment, “What's the plan?”

 

And with that, Damon feels something snap back into place. He reaches out a hand, grabs hold of his friend's shoulder and squeezes. It says a whole slew of things he can't quite put into words:

 

_I'm glad you're here._

_I'm glad you fought through it._

And something he wouldn't dare say aloud but perhaps most obvious of all;

 

_I missed you, buddy._

What he says in the end though, as he takes in the abandoned streets below, the litter being blown pitifully across the empty road, and the flickering lights of the dying street lamps; as he feels the fear that permeates the air around them and corrupted their home seeping in through his skin, is only this:

 

“The plan, my friend, is simple . . .”

 

He looks down at the world and smiles,

 

“We get our town back.”

 

 

 

 

**End.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things, this probably feels a little abrupt, maybe? But when I started out writing it, I kind of wanted it to be a couple of loosely linked drabbles that came together, but it ended up being more of a multichapter fic than I had initially intended. With that said, this last chapter was always how I imagined I'd leave it. Sort of coming full circle to that moment with Damon on the clock tower at the end of 6x22, flashing forward a few months. This was always only meant to fill in a few of the gaps and really just focus on steroline and them coming together and being in an established relationship by that point, rather than focussing too much on the details of Lily and the heretics and their plans in Mystic Falls. I guess I wanted to leave it open and vague on purpose. I'll leave it to you guys to decide if it worked.
> 
> Lastly, just a big thank you to those of you who have stuck through with this and kept reading, because I'll be honest, part way through this I lost a lot of motivation, enthusiasm and interest in writing and I wondered if I would ever finish this. So, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed it :-)


End file.
